W is for Waiting
by whumpertrooper
Summary: Charlie was tired of waiting. A story in three parts. Part of the A to Z whump challenge.
1. Father

_**A/N**: I've had this idea in my head for several weeks now. Not sure about the end result, but it was quite fun to write. Spoilers for Blake Mysteries (even though I haven' t seen the last telemovie). I hope you enjoy and sorry for any mistakes. _

* * *

Charlie was so excited he rushed out of the school without a second glance. Today was the day. Finally he had managed to convince his dad to teach him how to drive. And even better, Norm Davis was going to teach him how to drive a police cruiser.

Charlie couldn't believe his luck. Or well, the fact his father finally conceded to his begging. If nothing else, Charlie was persistent. But he also knew when to ask. After all, he had finally hit that growth spurt and there was no doubt he could both reach the pedals and see the road without having to drape over the wheel. The fact he turned fourteen last week was also helpful. Charlie knew they didn't have much money to spare and so when his parents asked what he would like for his birthday present, Charlie pulled out the driving card. And to his surprise his dad agreed.

He looked at his watch and fastened his pace. He had fifteen minutes to get to the parking lot at the industrial part of the city so that he would be there in time for his father's lunch break. That was the only time Norm could get away from work with the car, otherwise he was depending on his own feet or the public transport. Their own car had broken down two months ago and they were still trying to scrape together the money to either fix it or buy another one.

But Charlie didn't fret. He knew that by the time he could get a licence they would have a car, even if he had to get a job for himself. In one year's time he would be able to do just that after all and until then he would learn how to drive like a true copper. He couldn't contain his excitement about the prospect anymore and he almost broke out in a run, just to get to the meeting point all the sooner. Maybe his father managed to get off work earlier and he was already waiting...

Charlie's excitement died down a bit when he arrived to the parking lot and found it absolutely empty. Well, he was still happy... an empty lot meant there would be no risk of him hitting any parked car, but still. Charlie looked at his watch and frowned. He had arrived just in time... two minutes early in fact. He looked down the road... the one he came from and the only one leading to this place. It was empty.

'Maybe he got caught up in something,' Charlie thought, but at the same time there was a slight doubt in the back of his mind. Because this week his father was supposed to train another officer, which meant mostly boring patrolling and some paperwork at the station. Still, it was work and anything could've happened.

With a sigh, Charlie took off his school bag and settled down at the curb, so he had a clear view of the road. He just had to wait a bit.

An hour had passed. Charlie had at first become bored so he pulled out a book and started reading up on the history lesson that was due for the next day. For a moment he got lost reading about World War One and the assassination of archduke Franz Ferdinand, but then his stomach growled, pulling him out from the story. He frowned, feeling the hunger. He had lunch at school but as he was growing lately he was hungry almost all the time. Charlie looked at his watch and was startled to see almost an hour had passed. Yet his father was nowhere to be seen.

Something inside his stomach twisted and this time Charlie knew it wasn't hunger. He put the book back into his bag and stood up, for a second shaking the pins and needles from his legs. He looked down the road, hoping to see the familiar cop car driving towards him, but there was nothing. A garbage van passed by a minute later but Charlie couldn't care less for it.

His father was late for his first driving lesson.

Charlie wanted to be angry.

Instead all he felt was fear.

Because if there was one thing that could be said about Norm Davis it was that he was punctual and never backed out on his word. For him not to appear, or send someone else to let his son know he had to cancel... something must've happened.

Something bad.

At that moment Charlie put the bag on his back and started pacing the parking lot. There was a feeling inside his chest... a certainty that his father won't come. There was a feeling that Charlie should give up the wait and go home... or maybe stop by at the police station where his father served and simply ask.

Charlie knew it was illogical to keep waiting. His dad wouldn't have come this late anyway... he would've expected that Charlie already left. But... Charlie's stomach gave another grumble and he put his hand on it, as if to calm it down. Calm himself down. Because suddenly he felt coldness rush down his spine, goose bumps raising on his arms and back of the neck. It was as if someone walked over his grave and Charlie had to sit down on the curb. His legs were weak and the air felt stifling.

"Bloody hell," Charlie cursed, putting his head on his knees and tried to take in several deep breaths. He was scared. There was no reason to be, but Charlie felt on the verge of panic and he didn't know what to do.

His brain told him to go home. His feet refused to listen. So he sat there on the curb, breathing in through his mouth and trying to calm down his fast beating heart, trying to will away the feeling of nausea that hit from nowhere. He kept glancing between the road and his watch, willing the car to appear. Willing his body to start working normally again.

Charlie waited another half hour. When a van from the local building company passed by, the driver throwing him a curious look, Charlie finally found the strength and got back up to his feet. Suddenly getting home seemed imperative.

Charlie rushed down the familiar streets, ignoring a call from a neighbour friend asking him to join the group of teens in playing ball. Charlie waved off the boy and without word entered the building where he and his family lived for the last three years.

He ran up the stairs and stopped in front of the apartment door. Suddenly he didn't want to enter. He felt like a coward, like he should just turn and leave. But he heard the familiar voices of his kid brothers and that gave him courage. Charlie pulled out the house key and tried to put it into the lock... only to realize his hand was shaking.

He cursed.

There was absolutely no reason for him to react this way.

'Stop being such a wuss, Charlie,' he thought as he finally pushed the key inside and turned the doorknob.

"Mom?" he called out, hearing his youngest brother Billy crying in the kitchen and Mickey pestering him for it. It all sounded so normal that for a second Charlie felt a smile tug at his lips. Until he stepped into the kitchen.

Two of his brothers were sitting behind the table, eating an early dinner. Or rather, the five and the four year old seemed to be caught in some sort of a building contest with their mashed potatoes. Billy, the baby of the family was fussing in the high chair, while their neighbour Miss Barbara was trying to feed him some mushy carrots.

Charlie froze.

"Miss Barbara?"

The woman turned away from the baby and in that moment Charlie knew. The look in her eyes said it all.

"Oh Charlie," she spoke and took a step towards him. Charlie recoiled, shaking his head.

"Where... where is mom?" he asked, voice shaking and both Ray and Mickey looked up in confusion. They weren't used to seeing their big brother nervous and they finally caught on that something might've been the matter. At any other time Charlie would've tried to pretend for their sake. Right now he simply couldn't.

"Where... where is she?" he repeated the question, fighting down tears.

"Mercy Hospital. She got a call about an hour ago... Charlie!" the neighbour shouted but Charlie didn't listen anymore. He turned on his heels and shot out of the apartment without a backwards glance, ignoring his brothers confused calls of his name.

He ran.

He ran faster than ever before in his life. He ran down the familiar streets, ran down past a police car without a second glance. He ran despite the pain in his side and the urge to just stop and vomit. He heard a horn of the car and dodged a biker, ignoring calls and threats.

His chest was heaving and there were dark spots at the edge of his vision, but he pushed through and entered the hospital. It took him several frantic minutes that felt like years to catch the attention of a nurse willing to help a kid. He knew he must've looked bad, because her first instinct was to ask him if he needed medical attention. Charlie just shook his head and raggedly he asked for his father's name.

She paused, unsure.

"He's a policeman. Please. I ... I think he was... hurt," Charlie stuttered and her eyes softened. She nodded and led him towards a waiting room. There were no words needed. As soon as Charlie entered the waiting room, he knew. He saw several cops standing there, looking somber. Between them was his father's superior officer, leaning over a chair with a crumpled figure.

Charlie took a few steps closer and as the cops noticed him, they parted, making way. There was a whisper of words, pained looks as he walked towards the figure in the chair. His mother, weeping and shaking, while his father's boss was trying to calm her down.

"Your son is here, Shirley," he spoke softly and Charlie's mom looked up.

Charlie knew then, without a speck of doubt. He waited too long. His father was dead and he was never coming back.


	2. Bullet

Someone slapped his face.

Charlie's eyes shot open and he looked around wildly. His left cheek stung and everything looked fuzzy. There was a steady pain at the back of his head and he could feel something wet running down his neck.

"Wha-" he tried, but his mouth didn't want to cooperate and it came out garbled. Charlie swallowed and blinked, trying to clear his sight. The world was spinning.

"About time. I was worried I hit you too hard. Would be a shame if you weren't awake for the show," a male, unfamiliar voice spoke from Charlie's left side. Charlie turned after the voice and saw a blurry face gazing intently at him.

Charlie instinctively recoiled.

Or he tried to. He realized he was lying down on the dirty ground somewhere outside, his hands bound in front of him with a rope. He tried moving his legs, but his ankles seemed to have been bound as well. Charlie was trussed up like a turkey and there was a man kneeling next to him with a wild look on his face.

Charlie closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, while he tried to convince himself this was just a dream. A very vivid, painful and stupid dream to be sure.

There was a pat on his face.

"Now now, don't go back to sleep just yet, Sergeant. Where would be the fun in that?"

The pat was anything but gentle and as the pain shot through Charlie's head he realized this was - sadly - a reality.

"What... who are you?" Charlie asked, licking his lips for some moisture and wincing as he encountered a cut on his lip, still seeping blood. He was trying to remember what could've brought him into this situation, but frankly he was drawing a blank. There was no active case he or Blake were working on that would justify an attack on a police officer. At least not to his knowledge. However, Charlie admitted that his memories at the current moment didn't seem very reliable. After all, he didn't remember being hit on the head or bound like a Christmas present by some maniac. Actually, the last thing he could recall was sitting behind his desk and taking a call...

"I am the 'drunken guy' bothering the honourable citizens of Ballarat that you came out to arrest," the man said as if reading his mind. Charlie groaned.

"I don't understand. What... what do you want from me?" he asked, the exasperation clear in his voice. This was getting old real fast. Lately every other criminal seemed to find joy in attempting to crack Charlie's skull and he was getting tired of it. Not to mention this time it felt that the man might've actually succeeded.

The man, who still didn't deem Charlie worthy enough to introduce himself, scoffed. He clearly didn't seem impressed by Charlie's attitude.

"I don't want anything from you, _Sergeant_," he said, practically spitting out Charlie's rank.

"You just... go and randomly attack cops?" Charlie knew he shouldn't be cheeky, not while lying on the ground who knew where, unable to protect himself. Especially not when the man waved a gun in his face threateningly.

Charlie wasn't sure but he thought he saw the handle glisten with red. Blood.

Probably his own.

"I would try and keep your mouth shut, Davis," the man advised and looked at his watch. "Or I might find myself inclined to shut it for you."

Charlie gritted his teeth, swallowing a retort. What was the use of this anyway?

The man stood and stretched his limbs then looked at the gun in his hand. He only just now seemed to notice the blood... or he knew about it all along and just decided to put on a show of cleaning it off on Charlie's trousers.

Charlie flinched.

The man snickered.

Charlie bit on his tongue and used the moment to look around. He was out in the open. The sun was slowly starting to set but it was still beating uncomfortably at his skin. It was nearing summer and the ground below him felt too warm. Charlie felt parched, his throat dry except for the taste of blood. He would've liked nothing better than to shut his eyes and fall back to sleep or unconsciousness, but each time he dared to shut them for more than a second the man seemed to find a sick pleasure in kicking him in the ribs or legs. After two such kicks Charlie learned his lesson. No sleeping for him.

There was only so long he could go silent however. He tried to remember if he'd seen the man before but his memory was hitting a wall. Nothing was familiar about the guy. Charlie tried to figure out what might be the connection between them or what might be the reason for this impromptu kidnapping session.

The man looked to be in his late fifties. There were calluses on his hands and to Charlie's unhappiness he seemed to be in fit state. His clothes weren't pricey but they weren't the cheapest either. Still, there was just something about the man. The sunken look in his eyes. The permanent frown etched into his face. Charlie could see he was flexing his left hand into a fist on and off as if trying to control his anger. That didn't bode well with Charlie. If the man was sending out such open signals of hostility... Charlie was starting to worry he might not get out of this one alive.

The man once again looked at his watch, frowning.

Charlie couldn't keep silent anymore.

"Waiting for someone?" he asked and tensed, expecting another kick in response. It didn't come. Instead the man stepped closer to him, then squatted down. And there was just something much more intimidating about the fact he wanted to make sure Charlie could see his face.

"Actually, yes. But he seems to be taking his sweet time. Maybe I chose wrong after all."

Charlie frowned, confused.

"Who?"

"Who do you think?" the man snorted. "Blake!" he said the name full of venom then spat on the ground as if the mere word left a bad taste in his mouth. "That fucking bastard who took away my son!"

Charlie groaned. Well, wasn't that just great. Another person with a grudge against Blake.

"Your son?" he asked and tried to remember if they put anyone away lately who had a slightly deranged father. He was drawing a blank.

"Dennis!" the man spat angrily and Charlie flinched. He couldn't help it.

The longer he was lying there, the worse his chances of an escape looked. And he did try to escape. Even as the man kept talking, cursing Blake and the whole Ballarat that caused his son's early demise, Charlie was trying to inconspicuously rub his wrists together, twist them and do anything to loosen the binds. So far all he managed however was to rub the skin raw. He was wrecking his mind, trying to think through the fog of the headache and figure out who Dennis was, until the man in front of him let something slide.

"Those bitches weren't even worth it. Why would anyone care what happened to those whores? They had no family, no purpose. My son did everyone a favour, getting this town rid of the diseased and tainted souls," the man kept spouting and that's when Charlie remembered.

"Dennis... Flack?" he uttered and the man paused in his tirade. He stood there, only few feet from Charlie, yet his gaze was light-years away. There was a pained grimace on his face but it passed as quickly as it came, replaced by cold anger. Charlie wished he would've stayed silent.

"That was my son, yes," the man, Flack Senior as Charlie thought of him now said. "The son who was shot down like a rabid dog in front of his mother's eyes when the police, lead by that treacherous bastard, swarmed our farm."

Charlie felt the breath catch in his throat. He remembered that case. He wasn't part of the investigation, at the time he was off in Melbourne, visiting his mother and siblings. But upon his return he got painted a colourful picture of the case during several dinner conversations. Too graphic a picture, until Jean put a stop to it. It was nasty business. Dennis Flack was one sick bastard who was under the impression that any unmarried woman showing a bit of skin was a prostitute. And if she dared not to act as one, well... Dennis Flack was a dirty bastard that deserved much worse than the five bullets that tore through his body.

Charlie wondered if maybe it was hereditary.

"I'm sorry... for what happened," Charlie started, though even despite his situation he was unable to lie. He _was _sorry... for the death of those girl. He wasn't sorry for Dennis. But telling that to his distraught... and armed... father probably wasn't the best idea. He didn't have to anyway.

"Oh, I'm sure you are, Sergeant," the man said and there was a sadistic little smirk on his face that Charlie didn't like at all. "But not as sorry as you will be. Or Blake, when he arrives."

He looked at his watch, then back down at Charlie.

"Speaking of which... I think we better prepare for the show."

Charlie didn't like the sound of that.

Seeing the gun being pointed straight into his face was even worse.

"Now... you have a choice to make, Sergeant Davis." Flack Senior said as he once again squatted down next to Charlie.

"You can get up on your knees, like a good little boy and face the execution head on... or you can stay lying down and welcome death like a rabid dog."

Charlie blinked, unsure if he heard right. The cold look on the man's face was explanation enough.

"W-why? Why me?" Charlie asked, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. This all seemed like a bad dream and he still couldn't really comprehend that it was in fact happening. Somehow he was still hoping that he might wake up and blame this on bad food.

But Flack Senior wasn't a dream or a nightmare.

Charlie knew that, even before a foot kicked him in the side, causing him to roll over onto his stomach, atop his bound hands. Charlie groaned and it took a second until he caught his breath.

"I gave you a choice!" the man bellowed and Charlie grunted as another kick caught him in the stomach. He spit out, fighting back the nausea.

"Okay," Charlie uttered hastily when he saw movement and thought another kick was coming.

"Up... I want to... get up," he said, choking down a whimper.

"Then get the hell up!" Flack snarled and Charlie bit at his already bleeding lip to stop himself from cussing the man out. He was all too aware of the gun pointed at his head and the sharp point of those boots.

At least he was already on his stomach. With another grunt, Charlie managed to use his bound hands to push himself off the ground a bit, then pull his knees closer. Swaying from side to side, it took him more than he would've thought necessary to manoeuvre himself to a kneeling position. Once there, Charlie sat back on his haunches and focused simply on breathing.

His head was killing him. The world was spinning around so much he wasn't even sure where Flack Senior was standing exactly. There was no chance in hell he could overpower him and escape. If Blake didn't come to his rescue...

Charlie froze.

But what if he _did _come? What would happen then?

Flack said something about an execution. Charlie's execution to be precise.

If Blake didn't bring the cavalry... they would most likely both die.

With that realization came true fear. Because Charlie didn't want to die. He didn't want to be shot and he didn't want to see Blake killed either. There were so many things he hadn't done yet... so many people he didn't say goodbye too. And what about Blake?

"You want to kill me," Charlie said, his voice barely audible but Flack heard it anyway.

"Of course," he said as if that was the most understandable thing in the world.

"Why?" Charlie asked, but this time there was no kick, no punishment.

"A son for a son," Flack simply said. Charlie flinched.

"I'm not his son," he said with a frown. "We are not related."

Flack just shrugged.

"Blood isn't everything. You are closest to a son he will get. I can't kill his daughter, but you... you came on a silver platter. It will destroy him."

"I think... you overestimate Blake's relationship with me," Charlie argued. "I... I'm just his tenant. Nothing else."

"Oh please," Flack snorted and once again looked at his watch. "I have been watching you for the last few weeks. I saw how protective he was over you."

Charlie wondered what the man meant. He didn't remember the Doc acting more overprotective than normal. There were no incidents that stood out. But he also shuddered at the thought of being watched for such a long time and not noticing anything.

"The Doc protects everyone. It's who he is," Charlie said wearily. What was even the point of arguing? He doubted he could convince the man to let him go and find someone more suitable to torture Blake. Charlie was just thankful the man didn't pick Jean. He didn't even want to imagine what that would have done to Blake.

"Doesn't matter," the man answered gruffly. "He cares about you and that will be enough. I'll make sure it will hurt him."

Charlie just shook his head, but there was nothing else he could say. Except maybe one thing.

"He won't come."

Charlie jerked. He expected a blow or an argument. He didn't expect laughter.

"Oh, but he will. I made sure he got my message. Now the only question is... will he come in time?"

Charlie didn't understand.

"In time?" he thought the man planned to shoot him in front of Blake. Wasn't that the plan? Was there something else? Some chance that he would be let go?

Flack Senior smirked.

"In time for the execution, of course. But don't worry. If he will dilly dally... I will simply send him your head in a box, wrapped as an early Christmas present. Then I will take someone else. Maybe someone he is more fond of," Flack senior said with a growl.

Charlie shuddered. He cursed the moment he picked up that phone, he cursed the fact he declined Carter's offer to join him. But then he looked at Flack Senior, one hand clenched in a fist the other having a tight grip on the gun and he realized that it was better this way. There was no telling whether the man would've just postponed his plan... or killed the other cop without hesitation. And Charlie didn't want to have another Ned on his conscience.

"Tick tock," Flack Senior spoke suddenly. "Let's give the dear doctor five more minutes."

Charlie swallowed.

"If you are a Christian, I reckon you start praying for your soul."

Charlie gritted his teeth.

'Or yours,' he muttered under breath.

Despite the fact that listening to the man was the last thing he wanted, Charlie's mind did turn to prayer. He prayed that Blake arrived in time, that he brought the whole damn police station with him. He prayed for Flack to be stricken by lightning or get a heart attack. Hell, he prayed for all of this to be just over, because the wait... the wait was killing him.

As the minutes went by though, Charlie started praying that Blake never actually came. Because he didn't want the man that was closest to a mentor and father figure Charlie had at the moment to witness his death. He didn't want Blake to see the bullet rip through his skull and his brain to paint the dried land.

Somewhere in the distance there was the sound of a car coming to a rapid stop and a slam of the door. Somewhere in the distance, Charlie could see movement and a quickly approaching figure.

Charlie felt his stomach twist in that familiar sick feeling he experienced only once... in a hospital, over a decade ago.

The wait was over.

"Charlie!" Blake called out and slowed his approach the moment he saw the scene. Charlie wanted to shout at him to run, wanted to plead with him to save him. But his body froze up, his mouth dry as the desert and tongue suddenly too big to move. Charlie felt something wet trickle down his face and his neck and at this point he wasn't even sure whether it was blood, sweat or tears. Probably the combination of all three.

He blinked and wished for his hands to be free, just so he could rub the wetness off his face.

Flack Senior moved suddenly and for a second Charlie lost track of him. He didn't know where he was, the movement too fast for his spinning head. All he could really see was Blake, who came to a total halt maybe five yards from him, his face pale, hands raised in surrender.

Charlie wondered just what he saw in that moment... what made him so scared.

Until he felt the cold steel of the nuzzle pushing against the back of his skull... pressing against broken skin. A fresh trickle of blood ran down the back of Charlie's head, down his collar. His vision swam momentarily and he didn't know if it was the increasing blood loss or the sheer terror of the situation.

"Edwin! Please! Stop... stop this!" Blake shouted and took a step closer to Charlie.

'_Edwin Flack,'_ Charlie thought. _'How nice to know the name of my executioner'_.

His thoughts weren't making sense anymore. He couldn't focus on the situation, yet he was hyper focused on two things. One was the feeling of steel against his skull. The exact point where the bullet will break the bone and enter his brain. Charlie wondered whether he would feel it... whether he would even hear the shot. Maybe he won't even know. Maybe it would be painless.

The other thing his brain decided to focus on was Blake. The raw fear in his eyes. The apology... all the words he wanted to say. The plea for forgiveness.

Charlie wanted to end it all. He didn't want to see the terror in his friend's eyes. He didn't want to see the moment of his own death reflected in them. But he couldn't look away. He was too scared that... if he looked away, Blake would interpret it as an accusation. Too scared to look away and die. At least in this moment... he wasn't alone.

"Just in time," Edwin Flack said and Charlie felt the reverberation of the gun as the safety was removed, a finger slowly but surely starting to press on the trigger. "An eye for an eye," Flack hissed.

"No! Wait!" Blake shouted and stepped ahead, but it was too late.

A shot rang out.

Charlie's body jerked.

He saw Blake's eyes go wide, his face a mask of unimaginable despair...

Charlie felt a spray of something warm cover the back of his head and neck. He saw a spray of red in the air.

Time went still.

Or Charlie thought so.

There was no other explanation for why he was still aware of the world.

Was he even breathing? Where was the pain?

The steel from the back of his head vanished.

There was a chortling sound and a thud. Something had fallen to the ground... something has brushed against Charlie's shoulder on the way down.

He didn't move.

He couldn't.

"Charlie!" Blake shouted once again and Charlie blinked, confused. Blake was moving, running towards him. But how could that be? If time was still, if Charlie was dead... how could he see Blake?

Dropping to his knees and grasping Charlie's face, the look in his eyes a mix of concern and... relief.

"You're alright, Charlie. It's okay... it's over," Blake said then repeated it again and again.

Charlie didn't understand.

"Are we dead?" he asked, dumbfounded and Blake let out something between a laugh and a sob.

"No, Charlie. We are both very much alive I assure you."

Charlie couldn't believe that.

"Lucien! Charlie!"

Another familiar voice sounded from somewhere behind... somewhere Edwin Flack had stood, with a gun pointed at Charlie's head.

"Are you alright?" Matthew Lawson limped hastily next to Charlie. "Dear God. All the blood? Did I hit him too?" There was something close to panic in Lawson's voice and Charlie frowned, turning his head towards the man.

"Hit who?" he asked, though he couldn't really care for the answer. At this moment Charlie didn't care for anything at all.

It was with detachment that he caught sight of a pale Lawson looking at him with mild panic. It was with only minimal curiosity that Charlie's eyes slid down to the ground and he noted the still body mere inches from him. He saw blood... lots of blood and a gaping wound in the back of Edwin Flack's head.

"Oh," Charlie said. That explained why he wasn't dead. "I didn't expect that," Charlie admitted somehow offhandedly.

"What the hell's wrong with him?" Lawson asked, looking at Charlie as if he was some kind of a bug.

"Shock I suppose," Blake replied and gently turned Charlie's face towards him... away from the gruesome image on the ground. "Charlie?"

"You came," Charlie said and knew he should have been more happy about it or more angry, but at this point he didn't know what emotion was the right one. He didn't _feel _ any emotion. Truly, it was as if he had indeed died, just didn't know about it.

But Blake and Lawson were there and they looked alive enough. They also looked emotional enough in Charlie's stead, so he decided it was alright.

"Can we leave now? I think I need a shower," Charlie said. Blake grimaced and Lawson snorted.

"I don't think a shower will fix this," he said grimly. Charlie sighed and fell silent, while Blake was trying to cut the ropes binding his hands and feet. Lawson had made a cursory check of Edwin's body, just to make sure the man was indeed dead. If the look on his face was anything to go by, he would've been happy to empty his whole gun into the body.

"Damn, you did a number on your wrists, Charlie," Blake muttered when the rope fell off Charlie's hands and they could see the nasty burns. Charlie looked at them, then shrugged. At least now he could move his hands. The pins and needles were just a reminder that he still had hands.

Blake shot him a look of concern and searched his pockets. He managed to pull out one clean handkerchief he kept for possible evidence on the scene, but then he grimaced. One handkerchief obviously wasn't enough.

"Lucien?" Lawson spoke and Charlie flinched a bit. He didn't realize the man had moved to stand behind him. "There's a lot of blood here and I doubt it's all from Edwin."

Blake looked up from his ministrations of Charlie's hands. He stood quickly, keeping one hand on Charlie's shoulder to stop him from toppling over, then moved so he had good access to Charlie's back.

"Damn, that looks nasty. And I can't see how bad the damage is because of all the other mess..." Blake's fingers touched the back of Charlie's head and he instinctively recoiled.

"I'm sorry Charlie. I just need to see the wound... I'll try not to hurt you."

Charlie didn't care for the pain. Nothing really hurt anymore... everything was dull. But he couldn't stand the feeling of someone behind his back and he kept trying to turn his body. Until he became lightheaded and had to close his eyes. He might've swayed, he wasn't sure. But there were two pairs of hands holding him up.

"Bloody hell," Blake uttered and for a moment gave up on trying to tend to the wound.

"Hold him up, I'll cut the ropes on his legs. We should get him to the hospital. Where are the others? Did you call this in?"

"We didn't really have the time if I recall correctly," Lawson grunted in reply as Blake managed to free Charlie's legs.

"In that case, let's get him to the car. I reckon there's a phone at the farm just a mile down the road. You can call the squad from there while I take Charlie to the hospital."

"Of course. Leave the grunt work to the cripple," Lawson grumbled, though there was no fire behind it and Charlie could've sworn he saw Blake roll his eyes.

"Please. You just shot a guy dead from how many yards? I would hardly call you a cripple."

Charlie should've laughed. Or at least smiled. But his face didn't even twitch. He felt like smirking somewhere deep inside, but his body just didn't get the signal.

The same went for pain. Charlie didn't groan or yelp as the two men helped him up to his feet even though the blood rushing back to his extremities wasn't comfortable. He swayed and blinked away at the dark spots in his vision, but didn't complain. It was Blake and Lawson who grunted their way through helping Charlie towards the car that was parked behind a small hill.

Charlie bore stoically when he was settled onto the passenger seat. He didn't even flinch as Blake pulled out a package of bandages from his medical bag and hastily bandaged the wound on his head and the rope burns on his wrists. Even though it stung and hurt... those feelings were far away.

Charlie would've thought Blake should be happy that he didn't have to deal with his complaints and moaning. Instead Blake just seemed more and more concerned.

Charlie didn't know what to do to help with that. So he leaned back in the seat, ignoring the fact he was probably messing up the upholstery with blood and who knew what else. He tried to relax and just watched the country passing by in the window. And when the movement seemed like too much and he felt dizziness overwhelming his senses, he simply closed his eyes.

* * *

The drive to the hospital was mostly silent. As soon as they dropped Lawson off at the farm, Blake slowed the car down a bit, most likely to prevent Charlie from getting sick. He appreciated it. Not so much the constant looks aimed his way or the occasional question if he was alright.

Charlie sighed. He was alive. What else there was to it?

When they were about halfway to the hospital though and Blake asked for the fourth time, Charlie wanted to scream. He didn't need the attention, he didn't need the concern. Each time Blake spoke it just pulled Charlie back from that calm place deep inside where nothing mattered... closer to the surface. He knew the surface would be simmering with all the emotions. Charlie wanted to stay in the deep.

"How did you find me?" he asked instead of an answer, letting a bit of curiosity through. It seemed like a safest emotion at this time.

Blake turned towards him, and Charlie could see he was biting his cheek, thinking. Charlie wondered why. It wasn't that hard of a question after all.

"Matthew's leg was acting up so I drove him home a bit earlier than planned from work. You were out on a call... at least that's what we thought. When we arrived, the front door to the house was open."

Charlie blinked. He felt worry stirring in his stomach despite his attempts to push it back.

"Jean?"

"She's alright," Blake reassured him quickly. "She was at the council meeting... she probably doesn't even know something's wrong."

The worry settled.

"Oh. Okay."

"We found a note on the kitchen table. It was some kind of a riddle, but... I recognized the handwriting."

"How?" Charlie frowned.

"Right after the case ended... Edwin sent me some... mail. Idle threats and such... at least that's how it looked at the moment," Blake said with a sigh. "I'm so sorry, Charlie. I should have taken it more seriously. This... You shouldn't have gone through this."

Charlie shrugged. He didn't want to blame Blake. He didn't feel angry about it so why would he?

"It's okay, Doc. So you figured it all out?" Charlie asked, closing his eyes for a moment. His head felt woozy and listening to Blake made him a bit sleepy. But that was okay. There was no more insane gun toting guys waiting in line to kill him. At least he hoped so.

"Charlie?" Blake touched his shoulder and Charlie opened his eyes. "Stay awake please."

Hearing those words Charlie couldn't stop the flinch. His body expected a blow. Blake didn't miss the reaction.

"What's wrong? Do you need me to stop the car?"

"No. It's nothing. I'm awake," Charlie assured him. He knew Blake sensed things weren't right, but he didn't pressure him about that.

"Did the note have an address?"

"The riddle said something about 'where the last one perished. Come alone before the sun start settling.'"

"You didn't."

"What?"

"Come alone."

"No, of course not. Matthew was there when I found the note. I would be crazy not to bring him along."

Charlie looked at Blake with a confused frown.

"Why didn't you call reinforcement?"

"The phone line was down and we didn't have time to stop anywhere. I didn't want to risk it," Blake admitted almost hesitantly.

"Oh. Okay. Thanks."

Blake blinked.

"What do you mean... thanks?"

Charlie shrugged.

"For not losing time. He was about to shoot me, whether you came or not," he admitted simply as if he was just telling Blake they were out of milk.

The car swerved momentarily as Blake lost focus on the road and instead gazed at Charlie with wide eyes.

"What? Why would he... how do you know that?" Blake asked, clearly exasperated about having this conversation while having to drive a car.

"He thought you might not come. But you did. It doesn't matter now," Charlie said and turned his head so he could watch the road instead of having to look at Blake's disbelief.

"Of course it matters," Blake said finally but Charlie didn't react. He could see they were already pulling up to the hospital. Maybe there he could get some quiet and peace. Maybe there they would give him something that would make him feel alive again.

* * *

Lawson must've called ahead, because there was already a pair of nurses waiting with an empty wheelchair. Under normal circumstances Charlie would've balked at that. He wasn't an invalid. He might've been a bit unsteady on his legs, but he was quite capable and willing to walk.

But raising a protest would mean that he cared. And right now he didn't. So when Blake opened the door on his side of the car, he just sighed and let himself be whisked away.

Charlie didn't make one protest during the following hour. He didn't complain and he barely flinched, even as the admitting physician pushed a needle into the back of his skull to stitch up the wound.

All that time Blake was there, watching him with a frown on his face. Despite Charlie's obvious disinterest, Blake made sure that every test or procedure was explained to him beforehand so that he knew what to expect.

Charlie wanted to thank him, but thought that would be too much effort. He felt tired and the amount of people around him was making him twitchy. There was too much sound, too much motion and getting lost in that comfortable haze his mind produced was getting harder and harder.

Sometime later, while Charlie was settled on a bed and waiting for the results of his skull x-ray, Lawson sneaked into the room. He gave Charlie an assessing look, then nodded at Blake.

"A moment, Lucien?" he asked and Blake stood up from the chair that was parked next to Charlie's bed. He patted Charlie's knee and gave him a smile, which Charlie didn't return.

Charlie didn't know what the two men were talking about. Sure, he could've gotten out of bed and tried to listen behind the door. That's what a good cop would've done. But a good cop possibly wouldn't be in his situation now anyway. And as Charlie's emotions and motivation seemed to be missing, his strength was following behind quickly.

What could the two men be talking about anyway if not him?

Whatever was the matter it was resolved quickly, as within the next three minutes Lawson limped in, followed by a slightly grumpy looking Blake.

Lawson settled into the chair that was previously occupied by Blake, while the doctor kept a bit of distance and leaned against the wall.

Charlie looked at them, unblinking. Waiting.

Lawson cleared his throat.

"How are you feeling, Charlie?"

Charlie knew he probably should have said fine. Or sore. Either of those would have worked. But neither of those answers were true either.

He hurt. He knew he hurt, he could feel the pain in his head, feel the sting of his skin rubbed raw on his wrists. He could feel the broken rib and a few more bruises littering his side and stomach from where Edwin kicked him just to keep him awake for the show. But all of it was overpowered by the mind boggling numbness.

"Numb," Charlie answered after giving it a proper thought.

"That's... to be expected," Lawson said, although Charlie couldn't help but notice the covert look his superior shot towards Blake. "I was just wondering if you could help us clear some things up."

"But if you don't feel up to it right now, that's okay too," Blake jumped in somehow hastily.

Charlie shrugged.

"I don't mind," he said truthfully. Either way, he had to wait for the results to come back before he was admitted or left to go home and sleep. At this point, Charlie just wanted the time to pass by. And somewhere deep inside a small voice urged him to tell Lawson whatever he wanted to know right now. While he couldn't feel the horror of it. While he was still protected by the haze.

Lawson nodded, giving Charlie an encouraging smile as he pulled out a pen and a notebook.

"Can you tell me what happened after you took the call?"

"I don't really remember that. Sorry," Charlie said calmly. "I can tell you what happened after I woke up."

"Go ahead," Lawson said and Charlie did just that. He told them everything he could remember from the moment he opened his eyes, until Blake arrived. He described everything in vivid detail, in a dull unemotional voice. It was as if someone was dictating a report and when he finished, the pen in Lawson's hand was snapped in half. Charlie frowned at that, because he wasn't aware of when it snapped. Though he saw Lawson's knuckled turn white from the force of his grip.

Blake's jaw was tense, arms crossed over his chest. Yet he didn't comment much only sparsely requesting some additional info. Like if Charlie had lost consciousness a second time or not. How many times Edwin kicked him.

His tone was always kind and soft and when Charlie responded, he was always rewarded by a thank you and continue.

While Lawson seemed thrown by Charlie's description, Blake seemed to ignore the lifeless delivery. His hawk like eyes however didn't leave Charlie even for a second. It was as if he was waiting for something.

"Thank you, Charlie. I'll head back to the station now..." Lawson stood, grimacing as his bad leg almost gave way. Blake stepped towards him, offering support, but Lawson waved him off.

"That leg was giving you trouble even before the stunt we pulled today, Matthew. Maybe you should head home instead?"

"I'm fine," Lawson retorted a bit angrily, then seemed to shake it off. "There's still some things I need to finish at the station. We need to make sure Edwin didn't involve someone else as well."

"You have any suspects?" Blake frowned and Charlie froze, a nudge of fear making it through the haze.

"Not exactly," Lawson said carefully. "But... there's a possibility that Edwin's wife was involved as well. We need to rule that out before we close the case."

"Edwin's wife?" Blake's eyes widened. "Bloody hell, we didn't leave any note for Jean. And the phones are down. What if-" Blake was panicking and Charlie had sat up straight in the bed. His heart beat a bit faster at the possibility of Jean being in danger.

"Stop," Lawson raised a hand, his voice calm. "She is fine. I have sent an officer to the house as soon as I got to the phone. And another one is keeping an eye on Edwin's wife, Sara. I'm just making sure the case is over, for all involved."

Blake let out a sigh of relief, then ran a hand over his face.

"Thank God."

Charlie thought so too. His heart calmed down and he let himself sink back in the bed. Everyone was safe. There was no reason to worry. So he didn't.

After a minute or two Lawson left. Charlie just gave him a nod in farewell, ignoring the look of concern or the silent communication that went down between Blake and Lawson.

He slipped his eyes closed, though his body felt tense. Any moment he was expecting a kick or a shake on the shoulder asking him to stay awake. Nothing came this time. All he heard was Blake settling down once again, breathing quietly. All he felt was his gaze, but it didn't bother Charlie so much now. He knew Blake wasn't a threat and it almost made him feel safe. Like someone was watching over him.

The calmness lasted only shortly however, as soon Charlie's doctor entered the room.

"Good news is there are no breaks, the skull is intact. The wound looked worse than it actually was," the man said, sounding sickeningly happy to Charlie's ears.

"Can I go home then?" Charlie asked, because he knew that was expected of him. Right now, he didn't really care about the answer. If he stayed at the hospital, he wouldn't have to move again until the morning, though he would probably be woken up by strangers on occasion. If he went home... he would be safe, but it would mean facing Jean and Blake's expectant looks. It would mean he had to once again move around.

The doctor seemed to be a bit on the fence however.

"I'd like to keep you here for observation," he started explaining why but Charlie tuned him out. He just wanted to shrug and say okay, I'm going to sleep in that case. But Blake jumped in and the two physicians started talking in terms he wasn't privy to. Charlie watched them in some kind of morbid fascination... like one would watch a car crash from far away.

He caught words like 'shock' and 'crash' and frowned.

For something to crash, it needs to be up high. Charlie didn't feel high. He didn't feel anything really. Maybe he had already crashed and they just didn't know it? Yes... it felt more like that. He crashed when that bullet didn't hit him, only no one had noticed yet. Oh well.

The argument between Charlie's doctor and Blake seemed to come to halt as Charlie gave a small chuckle. Both looked at him with a frown, then his doctor sighed.

"It's up to you, Sergeant Davis," the doctor looked at him and Charlie blinked.

"What?" Maybe he should have paid more attention after all.

"Do you want to go home?"

Charlie frowned. Why were they asking him?

"I would advise for you to stay here, at least for the night. Under any other circumstances, anyway. But seeing as Dr. Blake insists on taking you home and he is capable of providing the necessary observation and care... I'll leave it up to you."

"Oh." Charlie looked at Blake and saw the expectant face. He didn't have a clue what the Doc was planning. Why it was important for him to get Charlie home. Maybe except for the possibility that Blake was simply traumatized by the event himself and wanted his family and friends close around, without having to wonder what was going on on the other side of the town. Charlie could understand that at least.

"I can go home," he said simply with a shrug. The doctor frowned, but gave a curt nod. Blake actually smiled and gave him a pat on the leg.

"Very well. It's on your head, Dr. Blake. I'll go and prepare the paperwork."

"Thank you, Keith," Blake called after the doctor, receiving a frustrated wave of arm.

Charlie sighed. It looked like his sleep would have to wait a bit longer.

The drive home went much in the same way as the ride to the hospital. Charlie was silent, only occasionally muttering a one word reply to Blake's inquiry. Charlie wanted to just lean his head back on the seat and fall asleep, but the last thing he wanted right now was for Blake to nudge him awake.

* * *

When they arrived, Charlie noted a police car parked in front of the house. For a moment there was a flash of worry, until he remembered that Lawson sent someone to stay with Jean. Just great. Charlie really didn't feel like entertaining one of the junior constables with his pathetic look. Before Charlie could get out of the car, Blake had managed to go around and open Charlie's door.

Charlie blinked. It felt as if the world was passing him by, like he had slowed down. He grunted a thanks and even managed to mean it when Blake just took a step back and nodded. The man seemed to realize that Charlie didn't need help right now... or that he didn't want it at least.

Charlie hoped he won't regret it, as getting up from the seat caused his head to spin and the sore muscles and broken rib cry out in protest. But he took a few shallow breaths and headed on to the house, Blake a trustful shadow by his side.

Before they even reached the door, there was a young cop standing there. Charlie recognized the constable as David Peterson, one of the older additions to the team.

"Sergeant Davis, Doctor Blake," David said in welcome and opened the door wider to let them in. "I heard your car. Chief Superintendent Lawson told me to wait here until you return home."

"Thank you, David. Is everything alright?" Blake asked, eyes already searching for Jean. David nodded with a small smile.

"Yes, Doctor. Miss Blake is in the kitchen, making some tea. Do you need me to stay until the Boss arrives?"

"No, that's quite alright, go on home," Blake patted him on the shoulder while Charlie walked inside the house, trying not to sway or bump into anything.

"Sergeant Davis?" David spoke and Charlie looked at him.

"Yeah?"

"Do you need me here?" David asked in a quieter tone. After all, Charlie was his superior. But the last thing Charlie wanted was to hold up another cop's time, when he knew the threat was most likely over. He saw the body and well... he had a feeling that if someone else wanted a revenge, they would've been standing right next to Edwin Flack when he was about to pull the trigger.

"No, we are good. You can leave now Constable. Thank you for keeping an eye on Miss Blake," Charlie added as David nodded.

"Of course, Sergeant. Good to see everything worked out alright."

With that the constable left the house. Charlie was sure he would radio to the station and inform Lawson of their arrival before taking off and the fact the car stayed in the yard for several more minutes pretty much confirmed this.

But Charlie didn't get to think about it any longer. Jean had came out of the kitchen, her feet automatically leading her towards Blake. She gave him a once over, making sure he was in one piece and hugged him.

"Lucien! What on earth happened? I came home to find Constable Peterson in the kitchen, the phones not working. He said something about an emergency and-"

Blake planted a kiss on the top of her head as she ranted and Jean pulled back a little to look up at him.

"I'm alright, dear. I'm glad that you were safe."

"But what happened? No one told me anything and the constable didn't let me even leave the house! Charlie, can you tell me what-" she turned towards Charlie, fierce and determined to figure out why she was ensconced in the house, when she noted how he looked.

Charlie wasn't sure what she saw. Well, there was the white bandage adorning his head, the split lip that had surely started to bruise. His pants were dirty from grass and dust and flecks of blood. The only thing clean on him was the slightly bigger shirt he got at the hospital, because his own shirt and jacket were just... too bloody to not scare every passerby. Charlie wouldn't have thought that a simple head wound could bleed so much and not have him out cold from blood loss. Though maybe it did explain his current wooziness.

"Dear God, Charlie! What happened to you?" Jean pulled away from Blake and rushed towards Charlie.

"Careful, dear," Blake warned her before she could attempt to give him a bone crushing hug. Of course she didn't. Instead she sent a glare towards Blake, then gently put both hands around Charlie's shoulders and pulled him closer.

Charlie tensed a bit, but then relaxed into the hug, going as far as letting his forehead fall on her shoulder for a short moment.

"Glad you're alright, Jean," he muttered, to which she looked at him as if he grew a second head.

"Me? Of course I'm alright. What on earth happened to you?"

Charlie just shrugged.

"One of those days," he said, his lips turning up a bit. He didn't want Jean to fret. He didn't want to explain what happened either. "I think I'll just go and lie down, if you don't mind."

With that Charlie extricated himself from Jean's embrace and headed towards the stairs. He half expected Blake to stop him, for whatever purpose, but the doctor just let him pass by with a nod and a gentle pat on the back.

"Careful up the stairs," he said softly and Charlie hummed in reply. "I'll stop by in a moment, just need to talk to Jean."

Charlie shrugged. He could find his way to the bed without help, thank you very much. And he really didn't need Blake's presence while he attempted to sleep. But he didn't argue, figuring that talking to Jean would take up enough time for Blake that Charlie might be already asleep when he finished.

One could hope at least.

As it turned out, that wasn't the case. Either Charlie's perception of time was radically off, or Blake managed to explain everything to Jean in a record time. But it didn't take more than a few minutes, during which Charlie barely managed to change into his own sleeping clothes before there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Charlie called out just as he finished fighting with the buttons of his pyjama shirt. There was no way he was going to pull up another shirt with a broken rib. Just taking it off was a painful chore.

Blake entered the room, seeming much calmer than he was in the previous hour. Charlie recognized the fact Blake needed to make sure Jean was indeed safe and he wondered why the man haven't simply left him at the hospital and gone home as soon as he could. After all, having Charlie home just meant they would have to wake up several times during the night to make sure his brain didn't leak out through his ears or something similarly pleasant.

"How are you feeling, Charlie?" Blake asked and there was that familiar concern in his eyes that made Charlie want to sigh and just bury under the covers. If he thought that would help.

"I'm alright, Doc. Nothing a night of sleep won't cure," Charlie said, letting some of his weariness bleed through into his voice.

"Are you sure? What happened today was... rather traumatic." The grimace and the flash of pain in Blake's eyes spoke volumes. Charlie knew it must've affected the other man, but he had no capacity to care at the moment. He just wanted the questions to stop.

"I got hit over the head. Not the first time it happened, Doc."

"You know I'm not talking about that, Charlie," Blake said with a frown. Charlie ran his tongue over his split lip, wincing as he encountered the wound and tasted dried blood.

"I'm not the one lying dead in the dirt, Doc. I'm fine." Charlie said, his voice sounding cold even to his own ears.

Blake flinched as if slapped.

"Charlie- " he started and Charlie was sure a reprimand would follow. But whatever the doc wanted to say was cut off by the arrival of Jean. Charlie thought he might have to hug her.

She peeked in, looking worried but determined at the same time.

"Can I come in?" she asked and received two nods.

"I know you probably just want to sleep, Charlie, but I brought up tea and some biscuits. And some water, in case you get thirsty during the night," Jean babbled, while putting down a sizeable tray on Charlie's bedside table.

"You didn't need to bother, Jean," Charlie said, blushing a little as she leaned over and fluffed his pillow then straightened the wrinkles on his blanket. Charlie felt heat rushing into his cheeks as he was practically tucked in within a few seconds. He looked up and found Blake watching the scene with mild amusement. As Jean finished with the blanket, she moved back to the tray and started pouring tea into a cup.

"Would you like some tea, Charlie?" she asked, already handing him the cup and Charlie threw a startled glance at Blake. The man shrugged, his face telling Charlie to 'just humour her'. So with a sigh, Charlie took the offered cup and thanked Jean, while she beamed a smile at him.

"I'll let you get some rest, I'll just grab those clothes and put them into the wash. Those stains need to come out. If you need anything, let me know, Charlie," she ran a hand over his cheek and put a kiss on his forehead, then took the clothes lying haphazardly on the floor.

Charlie wanted to protest and tell her to leave it be, but she was fast and he was slow. In the end he let her do whatever made her happy, while trying to ignore the satisfied smirk on Blake's face.

Charlie glared at the man, then decided to humour him as well. He took a sip of the tea, grimacing a bit because it was strong and there was no sugar at all.

Jean was just in the door when she turned and saw the grimace on his face.

"Oh, wait, I forgot the-"

Charlie didn't hear anything else.

'_No, wait!'_

_Somewhere, Lucien Blake shouted, eyes wide and filled with terror, locked with Charlie's own gaze as the gun went off._

_The bed and his room vanished. Charlie was back outside on the field, kneeling and ready for his execution. He heard the shot, he felt the jerk of the gun pushed against his skull, burning against the wound on his head. But the bullet never came. The pain didn't grow, it didn't stop either. Everything just became unreal, as if in a dream._

"Charlie!"

Blake was calling his name.

Charlie blinked as he felt something hot running down his chest.

Was it blood? Did the bullet finally come?

"Charlie? Come on, snap out of it!"

There was a slap on his face and Charlie jerked. Was it Edwin? Did the man still want him to stay awake, despite being shot?

"What?" he blinked and he was back in his room. There was hot tea running down the front of his shirt, the tea cup somehow lying on the floor unbroken. Jean was standing in the door, horrified, while Blake was sitting on the bed next to him, pulling at the buttons, trying to get the shirt off so he didn't get burned so much.

Charlie barely felt the burn on his chest. The taste of tea turned sour in his mouth and suddenly he tasted copper and something else. Something like gunpowder. His ears were ringing and head spun, but the only thing he could focus on was the memory of the warm spray of something on the back of his head when the shot rang out.

He haven't realized it before, but now he knew.

It was Edwin's blood and brain.

Charlie reached up, touching the back of his head. He felt the clean bandage, but above it there was something dry and gritty in his hair.

Dried blood.

But was it his or was it...

A feeling of intense sickness hit him like a truck. Charlie scrambled out of the bed, pushing past Blake and a startled looking Jean. He didn't care he was making a scene, he didn't care about the pain in his body that protested the too quick movements. He just rushed out towards the bathroom, falling to his knees.

The image of the dead body lying mere inches from him... with the grizzly wound in the skull sent him over the edge.

He didn't think anything could make him this violently sick... but the feeling of someone else's blood on his head did it.

Charlie wasn't aware when Blake stepped into the bathroom or how long he was there, though he felt his presence once the heaving stopped. Charlie grunted and leaned back against the wall.

"Here," Blake handed him a cup of cold water and Charlie took it in his shaking hands. He rinsed his mouth, spitting the water into the toilet, then leaned back, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his head on top. His rib protested but Charlie didn't care. He just wanted to stop the shaking.

Something warm was put over his shoulders and he looked up dazedly. Blake was squatting next to him, one hand running soothingly over Charlie's back.

"You're okay, it's all over now," Blake said and Charlie's breath hitched. The scene repeated itself in his head, over and over. He could've sworn he felt the bullet hit him, but it was just the gun jerking in Edwin's hand. It was so close. If Lawson hadn't been there... if he wasn't such a good shot... or if Edwin's finger had tensed in reaction... Charlie would've been dead. And the last thing he would've seen was Lucien Blake's wide eyes filled with terror.

Charlie shuddered, unable to hold back a sob. Somehow everything became too real. The previous haze that was keeping his emotions in check was gone and Charlie was assaulted with thoughts of what if, and all the fear he managed to bury before came rushing in. He knew he was overreacting, he felt ashamed by the tears that were streaming down his face, but at the same time he couldn't hold them back. He lost control over his body, his emotions.

But he wasn't alone. Blake was there.

"Oh, Charlie," he sighed and pulled him into an embrace. Charlie's breath hitched as he buried his face in the doctor's shoulder.

"It's alright, let it all out. You're safe," Blake repeated as he rubbed Charlie's back.

"I waited... for the bullet," Charlie said, hiccupping. He felt Blake's own body tense, but the man didn't pull away.

"I thought you won't come," Charlie continued. "I prayed... you didn't come," he admitted.

This time Blake pulled away, making sure Charlie looked up at him.

"Why? Why would you do that, Charlie?" he asked, confused.

"I didn't want you to... find me like that," Charlie admitted. "I didn't want him to kill you too."

"Charlie... I... I'm so sorry about what happened. I understand why you wouldn't want me there, but..."

Blake put his palm on Charlie's face.

"You must know, Charlie."

"W-what?"

"That I will always come. I will always be there when you need me."

Charlie blinked, because he already heard that promise once, a long time ago. His father told him that few months before that dreaded day. Charlie had believed him then. As he looked into those blue eyes staring back at him, full of sincerity, he decided to believe this promise once more.


	3. Blake

Charlie should've learned a long time ago that promises were meant to be broken. He should have learned when he was fourteen and his father didn't come. He should have known better than to believe Lucien Blake.

It was exactly six months since several people witnessed how during the pursuit of a suspect, doctor Lucien Blake fell into the deep waters from the Sydney Harbour bridge. Six months of frantic searching then slowly accepting that the Doc wasn't coming back. At least it looked like everyone had already accepted the fact. Life was slowly returning to 'normal' although Charlie doubted it would ever feel normal in Ballarat without Blake. Not for him, not for Jean or Matthew.

Still, they tried at least. Work was a bit more mundane and the occasional murder took just that bit longer to solve without the ever helping presence of Blake. But it also allowed Charlie to grow into himself as a cop. Suddenly there was no shadow pointing him towards evidence, no one to chase around in hopes they won't get into trouble or worse, get killed.

Charlie should have been able to get used to it. He should have been able to be happy in Ballarat.

Truth was, he was far from happy. Blake's disappearance came at the worst possible moment for him. While he and Rose were still dating on and off, they both agreed that settling down together wasn't the smartest thing to do. So with his detective training complete, Charlie had started looking for a different placement. He requested Melbourne and he was practically packing up when they all got the news about Lucien.

Charlie couldn't leave then. He couldn't leave while Blake was missing, while there was still a chance for him to survive. Even though those chances were small, Charlie thought if anyone could've survived that fall, it was Blake. The man had survived worse after all.

Days passed by and clues went cold. Both Charlie and Matthew had travelled to Sydney several times in an attempt to retrace the Doc's steps, hoping to find him. There was no body. The suspect Blake was chasing had vanished as well and everything just felt... unreal.

The longer Charlie spent in Sydney, the more he wanted to stay there. Every time he returned home to Ballarat, it felt as if he was leaving the Doc behind, as if he was letting him down. But at the same time... Charlie was hesitant to leave Jean as well.

She was a strong woman, stronger than most and logically he knew she could take care of herself. But... she was also like a mother figure to him and Charlie saw how much she hurt. He already left behind one mother. He didn't want to do that again under such circumstances.

So he trudged on with life. Once a month he took off for few days, travelling to Sydney, getting in touch with local cops. He started making friends, asking questions. Then he came back to Ballarat and worked under Matthew's tutelage, while helping out in the house. Being there for Jean when she needed a friendly face.

It seemed like the moment was now.

Charlie had just returned home from a rather boring shift. There was no big murder case to solve, no mystery to bite into. Charlie almost wished for someone to up and die, just so they could go and investigate. It would have definitely improved the mood at the station. Or at least the mood of one Matthew Lawson.

The man seemed to be insufferable today. His leg was clearly acting up, but he deflected Charlie's every attempt at help. Charlie gritted his teeth and was about to reach for the phone, determined to call the Doc so he could take care of that, when he realized the Doc was gone.

It was a stupid realization, because he knew that fact for quite a time now, but somehow... this was when it really hit Charlie. Because he needed Blake to come and help Lawson, but the man wasn't there. Possibly never will be.

Charlie swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat and excused himself to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face and shook his head, cursing Blake for his passion to solve mysteries, cursing himself for the fact he didn't go with the man, didn't offer him backup. But he was already resolved to move to Melbourne, thinking through living arrangements and enthusiastic about the fact he would be once again close to his brothers and mother. He was just trying to make up the courage to tell Blake and Jean.

Charlie never got to it and now he was there, stuck in some kind of limbo and trying to figure out how to live his life.

There was a knock on the door of the lavatory and Charlie shot one look into the mirror. His eyes were only slightly red, making him look tired and older. He caught sight of what could've been a silver hair, but he didn't pay attention to it. Charlie walked out of the bathroom, ignoring Hobart's comment about strange places to hide from the Boss and went back to work.

It was few hours later when Lawson agreed to go for a pint with Hobart and few of the guys. Charlie politely declined and headed home instead. He had a feeling he should be there.

As he entered the house, he was once again taken aback by the silence of it.

Usually, Jean was puttering around, doing something in the kitchen or humming songs while dusting off the furniture. Usually, the radio was on, or there were people visiting. Lately there wasn't a day that someone didn't stop by to visit Jean and talk about the town council, or some issues Charlie wasn't privy to (and didn't wish to be). Charlie thought it was good. It meant Jean was trying to get back to her life, maybe even find her new purpose.

But today was different.

The house was quiet, except for the soft sound of crying coming from the living room.

Charlie paused in the hall, closing his eyes and debating whether he should turn around or investigate.

There was a familiar sniffle and he knew it was Jean. He couldn't just turn back.

She was sitting on the couch, eyes red, face wet from tears. Her fingers were playing with the wedding ring on her left hand... pulling it off and on, twirling it around. As if it was a magic ring that could fulfil her wishes. Charlie sighed and sat down next to her on the couch.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," Jean spoke, shaking her head as he put his arm around her in comfort.

"Nothing to be sorry for," he said softly, but it didn't seem to appease her.

"No. I... I shouldn't be this... this _wreck_ by now. I know I shouldn't. And most days, I can move on, pretend that the other side of the bed is cold only because he is off on a case, or pretend that he was never there in the first place. Most days I can get up, make breakfast and think about all the things that need to get done, think about the plan for the day, without bursting into tears. But... today... I just..."

She started crying again, burying her head in Charlie's shoulder. He muttered soothing words and offered whatever support he could, even though he knew she had to deal with the pain on her own. As did everyone else.

"I have those days too," he admitted and she sniffed, trying to pull herself together.

"I know. And I'm sorry for that too, Charlie," she said then shook her head. "I can go on and pretend on the best of days. But... it's exactly six months, Charlie. I have been waiting for six months now for that door to open and for Lu-Lucien to walk back in as if nothing happened. Six months... each night I go to bed and fall asleep with the thought that maybe when I wake up the next morning, he would be lying next to me. But he never is and I... I can't keep doing this. I just can't. I have to stop waiting and move one."

She stood up, suddenly resolute. She cleared her throat and straightened her clothes.

"Are... are you hungry, Charlie? I think... there is some chicken I can heat up for you."

Charlie wasn't hungry at all. But he saw the slight shake of Jean's hands, the look in her eyes. The need to be doing something else than waiting for the door to open.

"That would be lovely, Jean. Thank you."

She gave him a small smile and walked out of the room. Charlie stayed sitting on the couch, his limbs suddenly too heavy to move. It was six months to the day that Lucien Blake went missing. Six months and they were no closer to finding him. Jean was trying to move on... she needed to move on, Charlie knew. But he wasn't ready to just give up.

If nothing else, he wanted to find Blake, grab him by the lapels of his jacket and slam him against the nearest wall. He wanted to shake the man and tell him in the face that he was a damn liar.

Because he broke his promise.

Charlie needed him here. He needed Blake to take care of Lawson and his busted leg. He needed Blake to come home so that Jean wouldn't be sitting on the couch, crying her eyes out. He needed Blake here... so that Charlie could start thinking about his own future, instead of constantly looking into the past.

Charlie had waited for his father to come. He waited for the bullet to hit. Charlie waited for Blake's return. He shot one look towards the kitchen, where Jean Blake was standing by the window, wiping off her tears and trying to accept the fact her husband was not going to come home.

Charlie rubbed at his shoulder and felt the wetness caused by Jean's tears. He moved his hand down into the pocket of his jacket, the envelope with his transfer request to Sydney safely tucked in. He wanted to talk about it with Jean, he wanted to figure out if he should wait some more. But the clock was ticking and Charlie knew he had lost too much time already. Without a second thought, he walked out of the house, towards the mail box, suddenly too eager to deliver the letter to the right places. He would move to Sydney, he would figure out what happened to Blake.

Charlie was done waiting.

THE END


End file.
